If Only Nightmares
by Flurrin
Summary: A dream shows Death the Kid more than he may have wanted to know, a life that would have been possible for him...had he been born anything but a Reaper. Brief 20's gangster AU. Very KidLiz. Very sad.


Kidd watched the rosy sunlight seep into his room slowly, bringing out the color in the peach wallpaper until the room glowed. It was so much brighter now than it ever would be at night: the light fixture, though expensive, was a poor, dim substitute for the morning sun. The glass protecting a sepia photograph reflected the light, barring Kidd from actually seeing anything but the dim outline of the three happy faces in the picture.

He would never understand why he was physically unable to sleep in. Too many things fluttered through his mind, and he'd only become busier since his father had decided to pass down the "family business" to him. He had to be more charming and more ruthless than ever before. He'd been born for this life. It suited him. But every once in a while, he wished his thoughts could be light enough to let him sleep.

He tried to remember what he'd been dreaming about before it occurred to him that he wasn't the only one in the room. A steady breathing sounded somewhere beside him, and he was aware of the sensation of his hand trapped against someone's smooth skin. For a second, he was afraid to look—afraid that he was mistaken. He turned his head slowly, letting his feathery black hair curl around his face and into his pillow.

Her face was turned away, her hair turned golden by the rising sun and pooling in the sheets. He could see the tip of her eyelashes flickering as her eyes chased dreams beneath the veil of sleep. Somewhere beneath the sheets, her left hand, the one that was decorated with his wedding ring, even now, was curled over his right on her stomach. He could feel her core hum as she breathed in and out, and he tried to avoid thinking about what her touch signified; what they'd discussed deep into the night.

Kidd turned his face back to the ceiling and let his eyes slide shut. He didn't dare move, after all. He couldn't risk waking her; it seemed cruel.

He knew the instant she stirred because her grip on his hand slackened. He pulled away with a subtle, fluid movement, rolling to the side without a sound. He wanted to watch her sit up slowly in bed and pull the loose, tangled hairs away from her face, but at the same time he wanted to grant her privacy as she fidgeted. But instead of finger-combing out her tawny tresses, she leaned over him and graced his shoulder with one hand.

"Kidd, I know you're awake," she mumbled quietly. He didn't respond, and she continued anyway. "You never sleep on your side. It throws off your balance."

Thinking about this made him feel dizzy, and he toppled over onto his back again. His face was hot as she leaned over with a distant smile hovering over her lips, her dark, blue eyes lined with fatigue. He could get lost in those eyes. He pulled his hand self-consciously to his chest as she stared at him.

"Hey," she whispered. "It's okay." Her fingers slipped under his, bringing them back to her abdomen until his palm was centered over her navel, pushing up the French-made satin camisole she wore.

"Liz, it doesn't feel like either of us are ready for this," he confessed, thinking once again of his business, his responsibilities, his father—of her, his wife.

Her eyes rested on her belly, where Kidd's pulse was beating rapidly through his fingers. "But it's exactly what we wanted. I think we can do it. I know for certain you're going to be an amazing father, Kidd."

"But are you sure we're not too young?" he pressed.

She silenced him by tipping her face against his until their lips met. His hand shifted, startled, until it found its way round to her back, and she pressed him deeper into the pillow for a brief moment before breaking away with a grin that finally reached her eyes. "You have terrible morning breath."

"I'm only human."

He didn't have time to apologize before she was kissing him again.

* * *

Even by her own standards, Elizabeth Thompson had taken a ridiculous amount of time deciding what nail polish color to use. If she had one flaw, she was indecisive. If she had two flaws, she was picky. And if she had three flaws, she was vain. Now she sat cross-legged at her vanity table fanning her fingernails through the air, newly coated in a glistening mahogany-brown, waiting for them to dry before she could go to bed. Patti was already asleep, as she was supposed to be. They had a long day at the DWMA waiting for them in the morning, but Liz found herself oddly restless. She shrugged in her flannel pajamas, sighing at the digital clock registering 2:30 am.

Death the Kid was about as detectable as a cat in the night, but she'd grown used to sensing his presence throughout the house. Whether or not it was his soul, she couldn't say, but she looked up automatically when he appeared at the door to the roomshe shared with Patti. His eyes were downcast under a troubled brow, mouth just slightly tipped open in a wordless question, as if he couldn't remember his own reason for coming here.

"Kid, what's wrong?" she whispered, curious.

"Nothing," he said, looking like a boy but speaking like a man with far too many years both behind and ahead of him. "Nothing is wrong. I just…had a dream."

"Oh, Kid." She stood and crossed the floor to him, opening her arms. He resisted her invitation for a hug at first, standing awkwardly and avoiding her eyes, but he didn't move when she embraced him. She was aware he'd grown up without a mother and she did her best to fill that role whenever he needed it, just as she did for Patti. But it was different with him. Their relationship went deeper than just that…or so she liked to imagine. "You shouldn't have fallen asleep so early. I keep telling you not to go to bed at eight o'clock, it's ridiculous. …Was it a nightmare?"

He shook his head quickly. "No, if only…it was pleasant, actually. But very surreal. Nothing…nothing that could ever happen in real life."

"You wanna stick with us tonight?" Liz motioned toward the wide, four-poster bed. Patti had transformed into a tiny ball at the foot of it, cocooned in a snail-shell pattern of blankets. "Plenty of room."

His normally pale face flushed bright red. "N-no, I can't."

"Whatever you say," Liz said, her exhaustion flooding her voice as she ticked off the light and went to lay down.

"I might…sit for a bit, if that's okay," he conceded, following her. The moonlight from the window above the backboard turned his face white again, as it was supposed to be, but he still seemed ill at ease.

She nodded wordlessly as Patti snorted in her sleep and shrugged off the quilt. Liz snatched the free end and made herself at home as Kid sat down on the edge of the bed, staring down at his feet on the floor before he pulled them up to lean against one of the posts. He watched Patti's huddled form breathe, his expression tainted with a curious anxiety, until at last his yellow eyes slid closed.

Liz had barely fallen into a doze when his breath hitched. She heard him move to cover his mouth, trying to stifle that sounds that continued to pour out of him as he snuffled in the dark. The moonlight had been doused by passing clouds, so Liz reached over to the end table and turned the lamp on, squinting at him.

He stared distantly at the empty space between the two girls, his eyes wide but unseeing as tears painted trails down to his fingers.

Patti blinked herself awake and sat up. "S'wrong with Kid?" she slurred.

"Kid." Liz pulled him away from the edge. He didn't look at her and continued to sob, eventually freeing his mouth when he realized there was no one left to wake. His voice made pitiful attempts at language that ended only in trailed-off cries. Patti glanced briefly at her sister before wrapping her arms around their meister, burying her head in his shoulder. Liz followed hesitantly, her hand encircling the reaper's shuddering back.

They remained like that for what seemed like an eternity as Kid regained control of his breathing and eventually gave in, lying down in the middle of the bed with his weapons still clinging to him.

"It's enough," he told the ceiling. Liz watched him curiously as he blinked moisture from his eyes, never shifting his gaze. His hand had found its way to intertwine in her fingers, and his hold tightened as he took another breath. "It'll have to be enough."


End file.
